Masquerade
by The Lady Elrond
Summary: Elizabeth has always denied her own desires for the good of her country. Tonight will be different. Tonight she is going to take what she wants. Walsibeth.
1. Confrontation

**Masquerade**

_'I've gone too long living like I'm not alive,  
So I'm going to start over tonight,  
Beginning with you and I...'_

**Confrontation_  
_**

September 7th 1559

The ballroom was a flurry of colour and noise, of masks and gowns, and Elizabeth's head swam with pure pleasure and excitement as she surveyed the scene before her. The considerable amount of wine she had consumed during the course of the evening had gone in the opposite direction, to her legs rather than he head, and she just knew that if she was to attempt to dance - or even to stand - they would buckle and send her sprawling to the ground. And, of course, that would never do. Elizabeth had many enemies, a great number of whom were in attendance tonight and, as Queen of England, she could show no weakness. Thus, she had spent most of the celebrations for her twenty sixth birthday sitting on her throne watching the courtiers enjoys the festivities...and drinking to alleviate the ensuing boredom.

Holding her mask up to her flushed face Elizabeth, disguised as a sorceress in gold brocade and emerald silk, inclined her head in greeting to one such enemy - the Duke of Norfolk, in the costume of a King, no less! He was accompanied by a mystery brunette, who was dressed as a Queen to match him, naturally. Elizabeth stifled a giggle at his obvious attempt to rattle her and motioned to a nearby servant to bring her another drink. She really didn't care if anyone saw - this was supposed to be_ her_ night and, by God, she wanted to have a little fun for once!

Screened partially by a black gossamer curtain stood an imposing figure in ebony and scarlet, wearing a feathered cape and a birdlike mask. He smiled mysteriously up at the small, but lovely, creature on the throne as she tapped her feet impatiently in time with the music.

_She's just a child really, _Walsingham thought, _A lovely child. And yet she holds all of our lives in her hands. _

Suddenly, as if his thoughts had escaped his mind and fled into hers, the Queen toasted him silently, holding her glass out towards him before raising it to her ruby lips. They held each other's gaze for what seemed an eternity before she abruptly thrust the empty vessel into the startled servant's lap and glided through the crowd towards her Spymaster.

"My Lady," he took her hand - that fragile but _powerful_ hand - in his and stooped to kiss it gently, his lips barely brushing the silk of her glove.

"Sir Francis," the Queen's sherry-brown eyes sparkled gaily behind her mask, "You are not dancing?"

"Do I ever, your Majesty?" he replied wryly, "But then, neither are you, and that_ is_ a rare occurrence." Elizabeth shrugged with an unusually shy smile, prompting Walsingham to continue, his voice low and secretive below the din of the celebrations, "Lord Dudley's absense is regrettable,if only that it leaves such a beauty without a partner."

The Queen's smile broadened to his amusement and she tapped him coquettishly on the arm with her fan, "I never took you for a flatterer sir, nor one who follows such idle gossip." Walsingham's chuckle was cut short as he noticed, despite her initial radiance, how the light left her eyes at the mere mention of Dudley and the sudden paleness of her skin beneath those delightfully flushed cheeks. Suddenly consumed with a cold inner fury, Walsingham took her by the elbow and steered her firmly away from the main hall, ignoring the abrupt halt of the raucous festivities behind them.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Abducting you, silly girl," he answered through gritted teeth as he led her down the deserted corridor, seemingly deaf to her indignant protests.

"Silly girl? _Silly girl!_ I am the Queen of England and-" she broke off as he whirled around and caught her by the shoulders, shaking her violently.

"As you keep reminding me,_ your Majesty_!" There was none of the simple courtesy he had shown before; his voice now rang with a scathing and mocking tone, "But tonight you have acted like an infatuated child, a _silly_ _girl _nursing her first bout of unrequited love. It is not becoming, Elizabeth."

She gazed back at him, frightened by the sharp intensity of his face but the natural spirit she had inherited from her Tudor forefathers soon overrode her fear, "How dare you speak to me like an inept chambermaid! And how dare you address me by my Christian name without permission!" Walsingham only laughed and backed her against the cold, stone wall, his ferocious eyes darting over her features with a sudden hunger.

"And what will you do_ Elizabeth_?" He spoke slowly, savouring each sweet syllable, "How will you punish me for such...impertinence?" The Queen began to struggle as a long finger ran languidly along her jawline, pausing to gently caress her earlobe.

"_Don't_..." she warned him weakly, struggling to battle her own traitorous instincts. She was the Virgin Queen and, should any of her guests choose to follow them, she would be forced to sever all contact with Walsingham for the sake of her country and good name. But..._on the other hand..._

She wanted to be selfish for once, to do what _she_ wanted, and what she wanted in that moment was for him to touch her.

"Don't what?" Walsingham asked, his hand pausing abruptly in it's ministrations. Elizabeth bit her lip, anxious for him to continue, and he smiled infuriatingly, "I cannot stop, my Lady. After all, is it not my sworn duty to obey your every command, to do what you _wish_ me to do? And you do not truly wish for me to stop, do you?" Before she could reply he ground his hips against hers, leaning in to nip at her earlobe as he did so. Elizabeth groaned, her legs turning to liquid and her thighs parting, desperate to relieve the _heat_ pooling between them. Her Spymaster growled in reply, acknowledging her whimpers as the signal to continue, and plunged both hands into the cropped mass of her glorious red curls.

"Oh, Elizabeth. It kills me to see you pine for _him_," Walsingham murmured into the bare curve of her neck, trailing his hot tongue along the same path his fingers had taken earlier.

"Kiss me."

He pulled back, unsure of what he had just heard. Elizabeth smiled up at him, but her eyes were serious and she did not draw away.

"Please, Francis. Let me be your woman, instead of your Queen. Just for tonight. _Please._"

He was speechless but, obedient to a fault, immediately swept her into his arms as if she was a sleepy child. She laughed and wrapped herself around him, smiling slightly as, his breath warm against her skin, he whispered,

"Happy Birthday, my darling."

**a/n Lyrics are from 'Miracles' by Paramore.**


	2. Seduction

**Masquerade  
**

_'When this memory fades,  
I'm gonna make sure it's replaced with chances taken,  
And hope embraced...'_

**Seduction_  
_**

He carried her deep into the bowels of the palace, to his own shadowy chambers, holding her in strong, but gentle, arms. Elizabeth's smile was drowsy but inside she was wide awake, tingling with a sudden onslaught of excitement; it seemed so long since she had last known a man. And she just knew that this night was going to be a whole new adventure, compared to what she had once experienced with Robert Dudley. She rested her head upon Walsingham's shoulder, laughing delightedly as he carried her over the threshold of his room like a virgin bride, before placing her upon the large bed. Elizabeth's eyes sprang open as she heard the click of the lock.

"What are you doing?"

Walsingham smiled and the key disappeared into the voluminous folds of his robes, "Making sure we aren't disturbed."

"Or that I don't escape, perhaps?" she asked, the sudden pang of unease quickly evaporating as he approached her with that crooked, but disarmingly enchanting, grin of his.

"Perhaps..." Elizabeth shivered with anticipation as the springs creaked slightly beneath his weight, "I can not run the risk of letting you slip through my fingers again, my enchantress."

The Queen chuckled but her eyes were serious, "I do not think I could, even if I wanted to." She sat up and took one of Walsingham's large, but elegant, hands in her own, caressing it and examining it as he, in turn, drank in every detail of her face. "So powerful and strong..." Elizabeth looked up into his eyes and her voice became husky and coquettish, "Is the great Spymaster capable of love and tenderness?"

Walsingham shrugged slightly and raised his other hand to gently stroke her bare neck, "I think, my love, you would benefit more from a firm hand, rather than a tender one." His grip on the nape of her neck tightened slightly as he spoke. Elizabeth groaned softly and he smiled, his eyes flickering over the curve of her white throat, "It has been my experience that a little pain can bring much pleasure." He released her, pushing her down onto the black sheets.

"Close your eyes," Walsingham ordered, his soft voice demanding obedience. Again, the stubbornness of the Tudor dynasty rebelled within Elizabeth and a frown marred her pale forehead as she considered refusing his impudent demands. He laughed at this and stooped to briefly press a burning kiss to her lips, "Trust me, _Elizabeth_."

Eager to sample more of his kisses, the Queen grudgingly closed her eyes...and _gasped_ as she felt the sudden cold steel of a dagger against the soft skin of her cheek. Her immediate instinct was to struggle, to _fight_, but his voice cut through her panic like a sharp arrow through crisp morning air.

"_Shhh...trust me..._"

The blade, warmed slightly by her flesh, trailed slowly down her throat and breasts, until it reached the bodice of her gown. Walsingham paused, drawing upon the laces until they were loose between his fingers, and then, with the precision of a ruthless predator dismembering its prey, sliced through the rich material.

"Oh, _Elizabeth_..."

She was naked beneath.

Walsingham put the knife aside and gently parted the remaining shreds to reveal her small, white breasts. Straddling her, he put his lips to the newly exposed flesh, watching her expression change and her eyelids flutter as she fought the urge to open them.

"_Don't_," he kissed the hollow of her throat.  
"_Even_," now her breastbone.  
"_Think_," her left breast,  
"_About it_," and the right.

Elizabeth arched against him as the kisses became fierce nips, sucking and biting at her tender flesh. Impulsively, he grabbed a decanter of wine from the bedside cabinet and anointed her rosy nipples and lips with the red liquid, chasing errant droplets across her skin with his tongue. She tasted so good, so good that he could not resist sinking his teeth into the curve of one perfect breast.

"So _sweet_..." Walsingham mumbled, stifling Elizabeth's yelp of pleasure and surprise with a kiss as he reached beneath her skirts, between her thighs...

Elizabeth moaned into his mouth, wanting him inside her. Hungrily, she leapt up and tried to tear the robes from his back with shaking hands. Walsingham smiled at her arousal and took her hands in his, slowly guiding them through the thatch of red curls at the base of her own stomach.

"Patience is a virtue, my pet..."


	3. Rapture

**Masquerade**

_'It's not faith, if you use your eyes,  
We'll get it right this time,  
Let's leave this all behind...'_

**Rapture  
**

Francis Walsingham held his breath for what seemed like an eternity, watching as his beloved Queen pleasured herself, her beautiful body twisting and writhing before him in a dance of ecstasy. Her eyes were open, tears of joy glittering upon the lashes, and they sought him out through it all, glowing with silent promises...

Bracing himself against her creamy thighs, he buried his face in the glory of her womanhood and inhaled deeply. Elizabeth sighed blissfully and curled her fingers into his hair as he swirled his tongue in circles across her pink slit; Lord, she tasted far sweeter than _any_ wine! Twice he brought her to the edge, smiling as she whimpered and bucked beneath his mouth, before he finally found the strength to raise his head from between her trembling legs. The room was cool, despite the warmth of their bodies, and he reluctantly left the bed to kneel by the fireplace, a tinderbox in his hand. Elizabeth watched as the spark took hold, flickering to life beneath Walsingham's skilled fingers. Her eyes were dark with desire when he finally turned from the hearth, a soft smile igniting his swarthy features.

"Come here." Elizabeth glided from the bed and stood before him, still clad in her tattered finery. As the remains of the gown fell away to pool at her feet, she pointedly avoided his gaze and instinctively clasped her arms over the exposed swell of breast and hip, flushing like a bride on her wedding night. Walsingham's eyes devoured the Queen, almost frightening in their intensity.

"I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my years upon this earth, Elizabeth," he murmured, reaching out to slide a thumb across one plump nipple. She smiled shyly, bright eyes gleaming beneath pale lashes as he ran his hands across the gentle curve of her waist, "So _beautiful_..."

Elizabeth's laughter was like the tinkling of tiny bells, "You have me at a disadvantage, Sir Francis. It seems hardly fair that I stand here in naught but my own skin when you have not removed a single boot in return." Walsingham favoured her with a toothy grin and stooped to rectify this matter, only to be waved away by Elizabeth herself as she knelt at his feet and began to loosen the buckles of his boots.

"Majesty, I cannot allow this..." he began, placing his hands upon her shoulders.

She silenced him with a single glance, "I do not want you to honour me as a Queen, Francis. Not tonight. I want you to_ love_ me, as you would any other woman. I _want_ to undress you."

And so she did, beginning with the boots, and blessing each inch of him with her mouth along the way. Walsingham was broad and smooth, with sinewy limbs and a sprinkle of dark curls at his chest. There was power there, and grace, in the set of his shoulders and the ripple of muscle beneath the skin. She felt it when he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed, when he held her by the wrists and pressed his cock - prettier than Robert's, she duly noted - into her wet core.

"This how it must feel," Elizabeth murmured, raining kisses across his jaw, "To touch the divine."


End file.
